


The Heart of the Matter

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy is Sorted into Gryffindor, to the surprise of all. When he begins acting out following the death of his mother, Neville – as Head of Gryffindor - has no choice but to call the newly widowed Draco into a series of parent/teacher meetings.





	The Heart of the Matter

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Written for mayfly_78 for HP Yule Balls 2009.

"I think we're done for the night," Neville said, setting down his quill and straightening in his chair. "You may return to your dormitory, Mr. Malfoy."

Scorpius set down his quill as well, shovelling books into his bag and standing. He didn't speak, but turned on his heel and departed the greenhouse. The sheet of parchment with its barely legible scrawl of lines remained behind, and Neville sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to distract himself from the growing ache behind his eyes.

What a difference a year made, he thought, picking up the abandoned parchment and scanning it.

Last year, Scorpius Malfoy had caused quite the sensation when the Sorting Hat placed him in Gryffindor, the first Malfoy to enter that House in...well, ever. It had even overshadowed the buzz caused when Albus Potter went into Slytherin, but that was possibly because there had been one or two Slytherin Potters in past centuries, so it hadn't been unprecedented, unlike the prospect of a Gryffindor Malfoy.

Once there, Scorpius had seemed to settle in quickly, making friends and studying hard. He'd been a good student, with a surprising aptitude for Herbology. Neville had warmed to him quickly, despite his parentage.

All that had changed after Scorpius' mother passed away during summer hols, the victim of a tragic accident. Neville vaguely remembered seeing a photograph of her wedding to Draco in the _Daily Prophet_ , an ethereal wisp of a woman with unremarkable features save the pair of big blue eyes she had passed on to her only child. Neville still couldn’t remember her name, despite her recent death.

Her son returned to Hogwarts the following September a different person: moody, sullen, argumentative, rebellious. Nothing and no one seemed able to reach him in his grief and anger, and no punishment seemed to deter the boy from additional mean-spirited tricks, pranks, and backtalk to his betters.

Neville had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but tonight had been the boy's seventh detention this month alone, and it wasn’t even Halloween yet. The time had come for more drastic measures.

Pulling a fresh sheet of parchment from his desk, Neville picked up his quill again and began to write. He kept the letter professional in tone, while hopefully still managing to convey his concern as Scorpius’ Head of House. Signing it, Neville affixed the Hogwarts seal and sent it on its way, using his personal owl.

After that there was nothing to do but wait, and try not to become too nervous in the waiting. It had been many years since he’d last seen Draco Malfoy, much less spoken to him face-to-face. Neville wasn’t looking forward to the meeting.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The reply arrived two days later.

_Dear Professor Longbottom,_

_Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. My son had been distant since his mother’s funeral, yet I cannot and will not condone such misbehaviour whilst he is in school, no matter the reason. I would of course be willing to discuss the issue with you in hopes of helping prevent any future escalation._

_My schedule is open this coming Friday afternoon, at four o’clock. I await your reply._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco A. Malfoy_

Neville reread the note several times before penning a note in the affirmative. Once the owl was out of sight, he added the meeting to his datebook, circling it even though the meeting itself was only three days away. Neville’s memory had improved quite a bit since his own school days, but it remained far from infallible. This was definitely one meeting he didn’t want to accidentally forget.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Neville’s last class on Friday let out at three, giving him an hour to tidy the greenhouse and straighten the clutter in his office. He had one of the Hogwarts kitchen elves deliver a tray of tea and biscuits, the teapot charmed to keep the contents warm. Sitting behind his desk, he began looking over his fourth-year students’ essays on the properties of bubotubers, frowning at some of the atrocious spelling and grammar he encountered while reading. This evening would undoubtedly involve the copious use of red ink. Again.

“Do you go through a bottle of that a month like Professor Snape was rumoured to do?” an amused voice drawled from the office door. “I always wondered whether or not there was any truth to it.”

Neville looked up, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he rose from behind his desk. “No. I only go through one every other month. Please, come in.”

They shook hands before sitting down again. Neville poured tea, which Draco accepted, and offered the plate of biscuits, which Draco waved off with one hand.

“The place looks almost exactly as it did when Professor Sprout ruled the greenhouses,” Draco commented. Setting aside his teacup, he picked a bit of invisible lint from his finely tailored grey robes. Neville couldn’t help but notice how well they fit across his shoulders and chest; grey had always been a good colour for him. “Scorpius tells me you actually live here, rather than at the castle. Is that true?”

“Yes.” Neville nodded, reaching for a Ginger Newt and pushing away his thoughts regarding Draco’s attire. Now was not the time to admire fit men, _especially_ this one. “I had one of the storerooms converted into living quarters when I first accepted the position. I like it better here than the castle. I’m only there for meals and staff meetings, for the most part.”

“It sounds as though your accommodations are more than ideal,” Draco said. “You must be pleased Headmistress McGonagall allowed it.”

“Being a Head of House has its perks. I simply took advantage of it. Besides, she understood my reasoning behind the decision.” Realising the moment for small talk had passed, Neville laid down his biscuit, folding his hands atop his desk. “Before we begin, please accept my condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you. Scorpius was very close to his mother. Losing her so suddenly was a terrible shock. He’s taken it very hard.”

“Yes, I can imagine.” Neville’s parents still lived, lingering in their twilit world, no better yet no worse than they’d been ever since he could remember. He visited them the first Saturday of each month without fail, no matter how busy he was at the time. “I was aware of his loss, and that was why I tried to go easy on him at first when he began acting out. Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if I should have taken a firmer hand with him sooner, or if doing so wouldn’t have made a difference. I think I mentioned in my letter to you that he’s had seven detentions this month alone?”

Draco nodded, leaning back in his chair. “You did, but you didn’t go into any great detail regarding what he’d done to earn them. There’s a difference between boyish hijinks and true malice. As you very well know.”

“I do know.” Neville felt colour rise in his cheeks, remembering. “Believe me, if I thought simple mischief lay at the root of the problem we wouldn’t be here now. It might even have been mischief, at least in the beginning. However, setting a Bludger loose in the Great Hall during dinner wasn’t amusing in the least. We managed to subdue it before a student was hurt, but next time might be a different story altogether.” He exhaled slowly and drank from his teacup. “I firmly believe there will be a next time, and I firmly believe eventually someone is going to get hurt. I’d like to prevent that before it happens. Hopefully, a few words from you might help.”

For the first time since the meeting began, Draco looked almost uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t be so certain of that. Scorpius had been – difficult – even before he boarded the train to Hogwarts for the term. It wasn’t an immediate change, but as the summer hols drew to a close it became more apparent. I shall have to consider what events might have occurred to bring about his change, other than the obvious. I’ve tried to let him know he’s my son and that I want to be there for him, but I’m afraid I’ve made as much impact as you and the rest of the staff.” Draco spread his hands, gesturing his helplessness.

“Surely you’re not saying nothing can be done.” Neville bit into his Ginger Newt in an attempt to conceal his disbelief.

“I said no such thing.” Draco straightened in his chair, his tone cool. “If you think it will help, I will owl Scorpius more often, attempting to keep the line of communication open. If he earns detention again, I could be persuaded to send a Howler. Perhaps a good dose of humiliation is what he needs.”

“Perhaps.” Neville wasn’t convinced. Embarrassment worked for some, but not everyone. He felt Scorpius fell into the latter category; but he hadn’t raised the boy the first eleven years of his life. He could be completely wrong in his evaluation.

“What of his classes?” Draco inquired. “Is he still passing with high marks? Or are those suffering along with his behaviour?”

“He’s doing well in Herbology, but he’s always enjoyed working with the plants,” Neville replied. “However, I’m told the quality of his work in other courses, especially Potions and Transfiguration, is suffering. Professor Slughorn and Professor Chang are both concerned, and Professor Tonks says he’s begun casting offensive spells with a bit _too_ much enthusiasm.”

“Aunt Andromeda is the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?” Draco asked.

“She has been for the past six years,” Neville said dryly. Now it was Draco’s turn to colour. Neville did his best not to smirk.

“Yes. Well.” Draco quickly regained control, his expression resuming its polite mask. “If you have anything else you wished to discuss?”

“No, I think that’s all for now. I’ll keep you updated, if you want.”

“Please do.” Draco rose and stretched. Neville did his best not to stare, but he was almost positive the other man noticed anyway...and enjoyed the attention. He did fill out his robes nicely, Neville had to admit. Draco had become an attractive man since their school days. He simply wasn’t Neville’s type.

“I’ll do that.” They shook hands again, Draco’s grip lingering a few seconds longer than was needful. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Malfoy.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Less than a week later, Scorpius was caught switching out the Abyssinian shrivelfigs in Professor Slughorn’s classroom ingredients cupboard, replacing them with the far more volatile Phoenician variety. Neville dutifully assigned him yet another detention, and wrote his father to inform him of his son’s latest transgression.

The Howler arrived the following day at breakfast. Scorpius didn’t even try to escape from the Great Hall before it detonated, looking merely bored when Draco’s amplified voice boomed from the Gryffindor table. Neville watched him discreetly from the staff table, ignoring the giggles and guffaws from the other students as the rant continued, apparently to no effect.

“YOUR MOTHER WOULD BE _ASHAMED_ OF YOU! YOU SHAME HER MEMORY!”

Scorpius stiffened abruptly, glaring at the Howler as it went on and on, pale complexion darkening to an ugly dull red. When the Howler finally concluded, exploding in a shower of flaming confetti, he grabbed his book bag and stormed away, blue eyes glittering with unshed tears.

Not tears of humiliation, Neville noted, but tears of rage. Watching Scorpius flee the Great Hall, his heart broke a little for the boy’s pain, wondering how Draco would react to this response to the Howler, and whether or not anything more could be done before the younger Malfoy ended up hurting another student...or himself.

The topic occupied Neville’s mind in the hours leading up to his detention with Scorpius. Was there something Neville wasn’t aware of that was making Scorpius so angry? If so, what was it? Was there anything Neville could do to defuse that anger, or at least channel it into more positive pursuits? Where did Draco fit into it all? Draco was involved somehow, Neville was almost sure of it.

Scorpius entered the greenhouse for his detention just before seven that evening, expression wearing a scowl Neville imagined had probably been there since breakfast.

“Don’t bother removing your cloak,” Neville said, slinging his own over his shoulders and reaching for a large burlap sack resting beside his desk. “We’ll be spending your detention outside.”

“But it’s almost dark!” Scorpius’s fingers hovered just above the clasp. “And it’s cold!”

“That’s what cloaks and Warming charms are for.” Neville hefted the sack and went outside, Scorpius following morosely at his heels. Neville led his charge to one of the flowerbeds furthest from the greenhouse, pulling out his wand when they reached their destination and casting several spells for warmth and privacy. A final _Lumos_ lit the tip of his wand brightly enough to cast a small circle of light around them, brightening the deepening twilight.

“What are we doing this evening, Professor?” Scorpius asked with grudging interest. “It’s not a full moon night, so we’re not looking for mooncalf dung.”

“Well, you know already that spring bulbs need to be planted the previous autumn before the first frost,” Neville replied. “Some of the night-blooming varieties also need to be planted at night, or else they won’t be as vibrant. That’s what we’ll be doing this evening.” Dropping the sack, Neville reached inside, retrieving two trowels, handing one to Scorpius. “Soonest begun is soonest done, my Gran always said.”

“Okay.” Scorpius took the trowel.

They worked in silence for awhile, digging holes into the cold ground with the trowels and dropping bulbs into them, covering them with a layer of soil. Neville pretended not to notice when Scorpius stabbed into the ground with the trowel harder than was needed, nor when he practically threw some of the bulbs into their holes. The boy needed to release some of his aggression, and the bulbs were perfectly capable of enduring some rough handling. It was one reason why Neville had chosen this particular task for tonight.

“That was quite a Howler you received at breakfast,” Neville said at last, digging another hole with his trowel. He kept his tone light, conversational. “You never forget your first Howler. I know I didn’t.”

“You used to get Howlers, Professor?” Scorpius stopped attacking the ground long enough to look over at him, eyes wide in disbelief.

“All the time, especially the first couple of years.” Neville dropped in a bulb, the corners of his mouth turning down in remembrance. “I usually received them after I got detention for some reason or other, usually going on about how my father would never have done such a thing, or that I needed to do a better job of upholding the family legacy. My Gran was a bit of a stickler for propriety.”

Beside him, Scorpius let out a loud, derisive snort, reaching into the sack for more bulbs. “It’s easy for you to say. I’ll bet your Gran was always proper, not just pretending. Father puts on a good face, but I always knew about his affairs. Mother and I both did.”

Now he was getting somewhere. Neville grabbed more bulbs from the sack and resumed digging. He knew adultery among the wealthier pureblood families was commonplace. Spouses usually turned a blind eye, so long as the affair remained discreet and no illegitimate children resulted. He wasn’t surprised Draco had continued the tradition. The Malfoy family fortunes might have fallen since the end of the war, but Draco was the sort to keep up appearances any way he could.

“May I ask a personal question?” Neville asked. “You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable. I just want you to know if you ever decide to talk to someone, I’m here to listen. Anything you say won’t ever go past the two of us, if that’s your wish.” It was an offer he’d made several times since the beginning of the school year, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to offer again.

Scorpius stabbed the ground with his trowel again and nodded. “You can ask.”

“Is your father already seeing someone new? Is that why you’ve been so angry?”

“He never stopped! I saw him the morning of the funeral, in one of the guest bedrooms. He doesn’t know I saw, or that I’ve seen it before.” Scorpius sat back on his heels, trowel dangling from his fingers, his face working as he struggled to contain himself. The bottle had been cracked, however, and once started, he couldn’t stop talking. “Mother and Father have slept in separate rooms for as long as I can remember. I know he only married Mother so he could have an heir and continue the family name, and once I arrived, he didn’t need her anymore. I – I – I wish he could at least pretend he cared for Mother, or missed her even a little bit, but he doesn’t! He’d rather spend his time with Mr. Nott, or Mr. Warrington or Mr. Urquhart, or even Mr. Boot who always dresses like a woman when he comes over. I just want Father to pretend he misses her when I’m around!”

Well, that explained a lot, even though the mental image of Terry Boot in stockings and stilettos was one Neville wouldn’t be able to erase for a long while. “That, or you wish your father could be at least a little more discreet in his affairs, so _you_ can pretend he misses her?” Neville asked instead, gently.

“Yeah. Or that.” Scorpius swiped the back of his hand across his face. “It probably won’t happen, though.”

“Probably not,” Neville agreed. “If it happened before your mother died, I doubt your father will stop now, especially since she’s gone. That still doesn’t mean you should go around releasing Bludgers in the Great Hall, or dipping owl wings in candle-wax so they can’t fly. Pranks are one thing, but I don’t believe your mother would have approved, would she?”

“Probably not.” Scorpius heaved a sigh. “But at least she would have really cared if I did something wrong. I mean, I wanted to make her happy, since Father couldn’t, or wouldn’t; but he wanted to spend all his time with his _friends_. I don’t even like them. Maybe if he had an affair with someone who wasn’t such a twat, I wouldn’t be so upset. I don’t know any more. I don’t care.”

Neville watched the boy hack another hole into the earth and slam in another bulb, deciding now wasn’t the time to reprimand Scorpius for language. “Feel a bit better now that you’ve let all that out?” he asked. “Confession is good for the soul; or at least, that was something else my Gran always used to say.”

Scorpius hesitated, pondering, a tiny smile crossing his face. “Yeah, I do feel a little better now. Thanks, Professor.” His expression clouded a moment later in worry. “You won’t tell anyone, will you, Professor? About Father having affairs with other men? I don’t think he’d like that very much.”

“I won’t breathe a word,” Neville promised, although in his heart of hearts he doubted Draco’s sexual preferences were nearly as secret as Scorpius hoped. “Now, why don’t you finish that last handful of bulbs? We’ll go back into my office for some cocoa to warm you up a little before I send you back to the castle.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Neville angled the secateurs...just...so...before closing the blades around the knotted loop of hydra-vine, while the fanged and extremely venomous heads adorning the rest of the plant nodded gently in enchanted sleep. This particular head would die quickly, yet another would grow in its place, stronger and healthier and as hungry as its predecessor.

Deadheading hydra-vine was always a tricky process, requiring every bit of Neville’s concentration, so he was badly startled when wiry arms surrounded him from behind just as he made the cut. The sleeping plant heads jerked, and Neville reared back, taking his companion with him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Neville snapped, turning around. “You could have got us both killed just now!”

“But you didn’t.” Draco drawled, sounding completely nonplussed. “You’re a skilled Herbologist, we were never in any real danger. Besides, I like watching you work. I must admit I’m jealous, though. You pay more attention to those plants than you ever paid me. I should be quite cross with you.”

“What kind of nonsense are you on about?” Neville seized Draco none too gently by the elbow, pulling him a safe distance from the still-slumbering, yet increasingly restive hydra-vine. “Up until a couple of days ago, we hadn’t spoken to each other in twenty years!”

“Things can change though, can’t they?” Draco stepped forward. Neville took a corresponding step back, watching Draco’s lips curve into a pleased, predatory smile. “Come now, Professor. Thirty-eight years old and never married even though you’re the last of your line and the ladies are more than willing to throw themselves and their dignity at a lauded Hero of the Second War? I can read between the lines, even if your friends can’t.”

“So you’re willing to throw yourself and your dignity at me instead?” Neville took another step back, only to find a potting table blocking his progress. He tried to sidle to one side, only to find Draco’s arms at either side, pinning him.

“Maybe I’m looking for a change,” Draco said softly, leaning in close He didn’t look the least bit affronted by Neville’s jibe. “Maybe I’m looking for a real...relationship. I’ve never had one, you know.”

“You were married.”

“She served her purpose. She gave me Scorpius. I never loved her.” Draco was so close now Neville could feel the press of his robes, the firmness of a flat abdomen against his own, and an even greater firmness against his thigh. “Don’t you ever grow tired of being...alone?”

A slight shift of Draco’s hips had them both aligned, and then he was grinding, rubbing against Neville, his body undulating as sinuously as the serpent symbolising his House. Neville’s eyes squeezed shut, growing harder no matter how his mind fought against it.

“Your son...” Neville gasped as Draco rocked harder against him. “If Scorpius walks in...”

“He won’t. These are glass walls, Professor. Anyone will be able to see us long before they actually arrive. You were a Gryffindor; don’t tell me the element of danger doesn’t excite you even a little bit.”

It truly didn’t excite Neville. He’d never been that kind of Gryffindor, not like Harry or Oliver Wood or Ginny. On the other hand, the sensation of Draco’s cock sliding against his through several layers of clothing was nearly driving Neville mad with pleasure, spiralling tightly along his spine down into his balls, and oh Merlin, he was going to come in his pants like the teenage boy he hadn’t been in many years...

Neville jerked awake, panting hard, his belly slick and warm, his cock spent. Falling back against the pillows, he heaved a sigh, closing his eyes. He really did need to work on his social life, he thought ruefully, if he was reduced to erotic dreams starring Draco sodding Malfoy.

Muttering under his breath, Neville rolled out of bed and went to change his pyjamas.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Thank you for agreeing to another meeting,” Neville said, shaking Draco’s hand. “Come into the office. I’ve hot toddies waiting.”

“Thank Salazar for small favours,” Draco replied, unwinding his snow-dusted scarf. “I’d forgotten how bloody cold it got this far north.”

“I’m reminded every year, usually just before the first real snowfall,” Neville chuckled, handing Draco a steaming mug before settling behind his desk.

Draco took a sip, sighing in bliss. “Oh, that’s good. I’ve always believed it’s not a hot toddy unless you can really taste the brandy.”

“Funny, I’ve always said the same thing.” Neville sipped from his cup, feeling the heat in his chest expand, sending tendrils of warmth curling throughout his limbs. “You’ll be happy to know Scorpius’ behaviour has improved greatly since Halloween, but something he said concerned me enough to worry if I shouldn’t expect a regression of some kind following the Christmas hols.”

“Regression? What sort of regression?”

Neville ran a hand over his hair, wondering how much to divulge without completely breaking his confidence with Scorpius. “We’ve talked a few times, Scorpius and I,” he said finally. “I think I know why he was acting up so badly at the beginning of term. I’ve tried to reassure him his reasoning is mistaken, but I’d hate to be proven wrong.”

“What exactly did my son say to you?” Draco asked warily.

“He was angry,” Neville replied, choosing his words with care. “I can’t pretend to know what his home life is like, but I came away from our talks with the distinct impression that he feels you didn’t love or care for your wife in any way that mattered. Perhaps it was a marriage of convenience, to carry on the family name, but he believes it was only that – convenience.”

“What?” Draco spluttered, nearly spilling his drink. “That’s preposterous! Where would he get such a mad notion? Why would he think I didn’t care for her?”

Neville handed over a napkin, waiting until Draco had wiped his lips before answering. “I don’t know, maybe the string of men Scorpius claims you’ve been keeping for years on end, up until your wife’s passing and afterward?” He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the desk’s surface. “He’s not upset that you’ve been seeing men. He’s upset because he thinks you cared so little for his mother you can’t even be arsed to pretend to mourn for her. He doesn’t think he’s shaming her memory, as you mentioned so eloquently in that Howler you sent. He thinks _you’re_ the one shaming her.”

Draco looked as though Neville had just reached across the desk and slapped him. Perhaps in a way he had, if the colour stinging Draco’s cheeks was any indication.

“You...” Draco stopped and cleared his throat. “Do you think that’s how he truly feels?”

“Is he wrong?”

“Of course he’s wrong! Perhaps I couldn’t love her as a husband is supposed to love his wife, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t care. I was very fond of her. We’d been friends since she was a little girl. She went into the marriage with open eyes, knowing I preferred men. She could have called it off at any time, and no one would have blamed her. She did it to...to protect me. She knew another woman wouldn’t have been quite so understanding.”

Neville reached into a desk drawer, pulling out the brandy bottle. Topping off Draco’s drink, he said quietly, “Perhaps you should tell that to Scorpius when he comes home for Christmas. I think that’s something he badly needs to hear.” Splashing more brandy into his own glass as well, Neville sipped the fortified contents, looking at Draco thoughtfully over the rim. “You were a right bastard when we were at school together, but even I can’t deny you care for your family. Tell Scorpius what you’ve told me. Practise a little more discretion with your trysting while he’s home. I think things will be better for it.”

“Perhaps so.” Draco savoured a swallow from his glass, his expression thoughtful. “I think it might be a good idea if Scorpius and I visited the gravesite together. I’ll tell him then.” Slowly, his mouth twisted to something very like his usual smirk. “You know, Longbottom, if you weren’t as bent as I am, I’d say you’d make a smashing father.”

“Thank you.” Neville grinned, setting the brandy bottle on top of the desk. “Don’t let my Gran find out you said that, though. She’s still hoping I’ll find a nice girl, settle down, and give her some great-grandchildren. It wouldn’t do to raise her hopes.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Your advice seems to be working,” Draco said, tucked away with Neville at a quiet, corner table in Diagon Alley’s most expensive restaurant. “Scorpius seems much happier than before. He’s writing more often; the tone of the letters are different, as though he wants to let me know what he’s been doing in school, rather than writing out of filial duty. He’s behaving better at school, I take it? It’s been some time since you last asked for a meeting.”

“So you asked for one instead?” Neville asked, brows lifting. “If you’re here asking for advice, I’d say to keep going as you are, since, as you say, it seems to be working.”

Draco fell silent, grey eyes looking up at a point somewhere above and past Neville’s head, as if seeking inspiration from one of the paintings adorning the walls. “Actually, I wanted to...to...” He paused, took a deep breath, and continued. “I wanted to say...Thank you.”

Neville nearly dropped his wineglass. As it was, some of the red liquid sloshed over the rim, forcing him to set it down so he could clean away the mess with his wand before it stained the linen tablecloth. “I...um. You’re welcome.”

“Is it really that shocking?” Draco asked, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Me thanking you?”

“Maybe not shocking,” Neville replied, tucking his wand back up his sleeve. “Surprising, yes. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Why?” Draco sobered, propping his chin in one hand. “Scorpius is the centre of my world, the most valuable possession I have. I was losing him, a little bit at a time, and you reversed that. You found the means to return my son to me. How could I not be grateful?”

“He just needed someone to listen, and that happens to be something I’m actually good at,” Neville replied. “I’m glad to see him returning to the happy, if sometimes rambunctious student he used to be. Of course, I’d be happy even if I wasn’t his Head of House. Children deserve to be happy.”

The waiter arrived with their lunch, and for several minutes conversation fell aside in favour of chicken breasts stuffed with spinach and leeks, and twice-baked potatoes. Neville ate slowly, savouring each flavour, noticing Draco did the same. Ah, the lessons learned from formal upbringing.

“I’ve always found the food here to be nothing less than divine,” Draco said, setting aside his knife and fork, dabbing his lips with his linen napkin. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“The food is ver-“ Neville trailed off, eyes widening when Draco’s toe began stroking his ankle beneath the tablecloth. Draco simply looked at him, not speaking, one eyebrow lifted; and Neville took a deep breath. “What are you doing?”

“Having lunch and thanking an old schoolmate,” Draco replied. His toes moved past Neville’s ankle to his calf. “Perhaps a bit of wining and dining. You always seemed the type to appreciate a romantic dinner.”

“Is this what this is?” Neville reached for his wineglass, drinking a large swallow. “An attempted seduction? Or just another way to...thank me?”

“Can’t it be both?” Draco’s toes continued stroking, moving in lazy circles over Neville’s skin. “You’ve become rather fit, you know. And I know you’ve been watching me during our previous meetings when you think I’m not looking, so I know there’s at least a little interest on your part. However, I’ve a feeling I’d become a grandfather first before you made a move of any sort.” His foot moved higher, toes caressing the sensitive flesh behind Neville’s knee, making him shiver reflexively. “And there’s the matter of thanking you properly.”

“What if I don’t want to become another link in your string of conquests?” Neville asked, fighting the urge not to moan. The backs of his knees was one of his sure-fire arousal triggers, something he wasn’t willing to admit to just yet, especially now. It was strange enough finding himself practically reliving one of his recurring erotic dreams featuring Draco Malfoy in real life. He wasn’t about to admit to _those_ , either.

“Ahhh, so Scorpius didn’t tell you I’d written to let him know I’d broken off my relationships, such as they were. I haven’t been with anyone since just before Scorpius came home for Christmas. I told him the next time he found me with another man, it would be because I was in a new relationship. A proper relationship.” Draco stroked the back of Neville’s knee one last time before withdrawing his foot. “Or I can order a more conventional dessert, and I will make do with verbal thanks for helping my son.” Tipping his head to one side, he studied Neville for a long moment. “It’s not only my previous trysts, is it?”

“Scorpius mentioned a certain lack of discretion on your part...”

“We’re two gentlemen having lunch. You don’t see me grinding against you in full sight of other diners, do you? Besides, it’s Easter hols. Scorpius is at a friend’s house, where he plans to spend the night. No one need know a thing.” Draco frowned, brow creasing. “Is there no interest at all, no spark? Aren’t you the least bit curious to know whether or not we can make something happen between us?”

Neville fingered the stem of his wineglass. “No,” he whispered finally. Looking up, he met Draco’s eyes. “No, you’re not mistaken. Let’s go.”

It was only a matter of minutes for Draco to pay the bill and exit the restaurant, Neville at his side. Once outside, Draco Apparated them into his house, and Neville found himself pressed against a door almost before the sound of the _pop_ had faded, being kissed almost as though Draco feared Neville would leave if he let go. Maybe he did.

Cupping Draco’s face in both hands, Neville fiercely returned the kiss, rubbing the entire length of his body against Draco. Now that they were here, and it was happening and not merely a dream, Neville wanted to touch him everywhere and be touched in return. He wanted skin against skin, tongues and textures and tastes, and he wanted it right now. Dropping one hand to the placket of Draco’s trousers, he wrestled it open and reached inside, fingers closing around Draco’s erection. Draco toed off his shoes, moaning into Neville’s mouth as Neville grasped him, reaching for his trousers. Within minutes he had them both stripped, hands roaming over Neville’s body.

“Bed’s over there,” Neville gasped, breaking the kiss with a breathless laugh.

“I know,” Draco replied, smiling. “I merely started early.” Pressing his lips back against Neville’s, he walked them toward the bed, pushing him down atop the duvet. Neville couldn’t deny the other man’s enthusiasm as Draco crawled on top of him, straddling his chest and kissing every bit of bare skin his mouth could reach. “Want you...want to feel you...”

Neville ran his hands over the smooth muscles of Draco’s chest, callused thumbs rubbing over small, pale pink nipples until they hardened. “Sounds nice,” he murmured, pulling Draco down into a soft, slow kiss, tracing the contours of his mouth with his tongue. Grasping Draco’s hips, Neville flipped them over so that Draco was the one lying on his back, Neville’s greater weight pressing him into the mattress. One hand slid between them, fingers curling once more around Draco’s cock, giving it a quick pull and smiling when Draco moaned.

Bending his head, he licked Draco’s neck, smiling when he tilted his head to one side, giving Neville a clear path to follow as his lips traced the line of Draco’s throat. He felt slender fingers wind through his hair, clinging tightly as Neville moved further down to his chest, savouring Draco’s unexpectedly warm and spicy scent. His lips closed over a still-taut nipple, licking and teasing it to an even harder point before biting down gently, teeth scraping over the tip. Draco let out a ragged cry, arching into his mouth as Neville moved to his other nipple, giving it the same treatment, licking and sucking and nipping back and forth between the two until Draco was writhing, incoherent putty in his hands. Only then did he continue onward, licking and kissing his way down the pale flesh of Draco’s stomach.

Draco’s legs parted without Neville needing to ask, cradling him to either side while Neville nuzzled the apex of his thighs, tongue tracing the crease. Lifting his head, he pressed a soft kiss against the tip of Draco’s cock before giving it a slow lick.

“Oh, Salazar...Neville...please...” Draco babbled, the hand wrapped in Neville’s hair trying to push his mouth onto his cock. Neville grinned, one hand reaching up to close around Draco’s wrist, while tip of his tongue darted out to lick up and down the underside of his cock, alongside the vein, stroking and sucking all over Draco’s shaft and scrotum. Draco’s hips bucked helplessly beneath the sensual assault, the sound of his sobbing breaths music to Neville’s ears as he finally took him fully into his mouth, sucking hard.

He drew back after several moments, licking his lips and ignoring Draco’s whimper of loss. “Where do you keep the lube?”

“Top drawer of the left bedside table,” Draco panted. Neville reached over his body, finding the small bottle of oil easily. He poured some into his palm, slicking his fingers and settling back between Draco’s thighs. Taking him back into his mouth, Neville swirled his tongue over and around the crown, forefinger slipping between Draco’s cheeks, finding and rubbing his entrance, probing gently.

“God, yes, do it,” Draco begged. “Want to feel them, want to feel you...”

Releasing Draco’s cock, Neville pressed a finger into him, thrusting slowly, his lips brushing soft butterfly kisses over the twitching muscles of his abdomen. Draco keened, pushing back against Neville’s hand as he added a second finger, twisting and criss-crossing inside of him, laughing softly when he crooked them and pressed against Draco’s prostate. Draco’s back arched, a cry that might have been Neville’s name wrenched from his throat.

Withdrawing his fingers before Draco could come, Neville quickly coated his own rampant erection with more oil before kneeling between Draco’s splayed thighs. Pushing them up and back, he positioned his cock at Draco’s waiting pucker and pushed inside, his gaze fixed on Draco’s, seeing the same need singing through his own veins. A low groan escaped his throat as he breached the tight ring of muscle, sliding in deep until he was completely encased in tight, throbbing heat. Flexing his fingers, Neville looped Draco’s legs over his shoulders and began moving.

He kept his initial thrusts steady and slow, waiting until Draco began moving to meet each inward stroke before increasing the pace. Reaching around, he grabbed Draco’s cock, stroking it in time to his thrusts, listening as Draco’s sobbing breaths quickened and changed as he drew closer to climax. He came with a cry, seed spilling over Neville’s hand to drip onto his belly, muscles tightening convulsively on Neville’s cock buried inside him, so hard it almost hurt. Throwing his head back, Neville began pounding into Draco’s arse, the rhythm hard and fast, fingers sinking into Draco’s thighs as he surged headlong toward completion. Heat twisted and coiled deep within his abdomen, tightening further and further until his balls contracted and he came with a shout, shuddering and spilling deep inside Draco in hot, slow pulses.

He held still, waiting until he finished catching his breath before Neville slid free of Draco’s body, collapsing beside him. Turning his head, Draco kissed him with deep, sated slowness, tongue twining almost lazily around Neville’s.

“I’m not sure about you,” he drawled once the kiss ended, “but I think this could be the beginning of something quite good. What do you think, Neville?”

“Depends on what Scorpius will think once he finds out his Herbology professor – who also happens to be his Head of House – is shagging his father rotten.”

“I wouldn’t worry.” Draco yawned, settling back into the pillows. “He seems to like you. I can’t imagine why...”

Neville hit him with a pillow.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Neville sat on the edge of an overstuffed chair in Malfoy Manor’s sitting room, fingers tightening over his knees as he heard Draco return with Scorpius in tow for summer hols.

“Yes, he’s a real boyfriend, and yes, he’s probably as nervous about meeting you as you are of meeting him. Yes, you’ve met him before. Yes, you liked him,” he overheard Draco say.

The sitting room door opened, and Neville got to his feet, lips parting in what he hoped was a welcoming smile.

“Hello, Scorpius,” he said.

* * *


End file.
